


Kneeling at the Altar

by Scruggzi



Series: Adventures and Explorations [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, It's all getting ruder from here on in, Obnoxiously romantic anal, This is what happens when I dare myself to write fic when drunk, fluffy bumming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 04:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14584716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Jack suggests they try something new...





	Kneeling at the Altar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> So one day I decided to drink a great deal of rum then go on Slack where for reasons best known to my pirate brain I dared myself to write something for the tag 'obnoxiously romantic anal'. I'm not sure whether or not I should apologise but on the whole (or possibly hole) as I'm sure Phryne wouldn't I won't either.
> 
> Many thanks to Firesign as always for being a fabulous beta and pointing out that I could not possibly lose a bet with myself - that would just be embarrassing.

There was no other word for it, Phryne decided; Jack Robinson in love was completely adorable. Oh he did his best whilst in public, he could still keep up, keep grousing at and jousting with her, always giving as good as he got. It wasn’t as if he’d given up on saying no to her, or succumbed to the insipid kind of puppy love she had seen in many men’s eyes and grown swiftly bored by. But he was still adorable, and it only made her love him more.

His current favourite past time was the serious and systematic cataloguing of his favourite parts of her body. Generally these were not the obvious ones; he’d had her in fits of laughter, reciting a solemn ode to her elbow one morning over toast, and had made a highly persuasive argument on the subject of her ankles as erogenous zones she did not know she had. Not that he neglected her more obvious assets, her neck and the high ridges of her clavicles for example were returned to repeatedly with highly satisfactory results.

A few weeks after he began this utterly ridiculous campaign, Phryne found herself lying on their bed in a French hotel room, luxuriating in the feel of soft sheets against her naked chest where she lay on her stomach. She was flicking idly through the pages of a plain bound book that neither the British nor Australian authorities would welcome on home soil, half reading, half listening for an indication that Jack was ready for them to get up and start a day of Parisian sightseeing. This was their first stop on a leisurely journey home that should allow for a decent (and if possible indecent) amount of adventure between here and Melbourne and she wanted to make the most of every minute.

Jack joined her from the en suite, a towel slung casually around his waist, damp hair falling into his eyes. She had previously suggested a possible visit to the Louvre, but at this moment she couldn’t help feel the Louvre wasn’t going anywhere, the man was far too appealing. He removed the towel, thus dramatically improving the view, and folded it carefully onto a nearby chair. Jack hadn’t really taken to the notion that there were other people to pick up after him on this trip and could be fastidiously tidy at times. Negotiating her own messy habits now they were for all intents and purposes co-habiting had been an exercise in communication and patience – not a strong suit for either of them - which more often than not ended up in bed. A solution which, for the time being at least, was a more than satisfying compromise.

Phryne grinned at him over her shoulder, affecting a nonchalant tone as her eyes raked appreciatively over his body.

“Ready for breakfast, Jack?”

“I had a meal in mind,” he smirked back at her, coming over to join her on the bed, letting his fingers trail along her spine as he kissed her.

Phryne made to move closer but he gently disengaged, his hand still toying with the soft skin of her back.

“Not just yet, lie back as you were, I was enjoying the view.”

“I’m sure you were, but _my_ view is considerably more interesting if I turn around.”

“Not a particularly inspiring book then?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Our hero is currently enraptured by the sight of his beloved’s divine derrière as she bathes naked in a forest pool.”

“Hmm. I can imagine. Is he about to join her and make his appreciation known?”

“More than likely.”

Jack’s hands had moved down, sliding over her softly powdered skin that smelt today of frangipani and musk. The curves of her cheeks fit perfectly into his large palms; he squeezed them together to form a highly satisfying round, and placed an eager, open mouthed kiss against the base of her spine. Phryne purred like a contented cat, enjoying his attentions.

“I remember the first time I saw you in trousers,” he murmured, tracing his tongue across one firm buttock, scraping his teeth lightly against her skin when he reached the top of her thigh. “It had never occurred to me before just how dangerous a garment they could be.”

“In the right hands.” She mumbled slightly incoherently into her pillow as Jack’s fingers swirled lightly between her legs before moving back up to lavish appreciation on her other buttock.

“It wasn’t your hands that had me waking in a cold sweat and indulging some deeply ungentlemanly thoughts that night.”

His lips were mapping the sweet cartography of her curves, his words slipping out between kisses, whilst his own hands had resumed a torturous teasing of her cunt, slowly stoking the fire between her legs until his fingers were dripping with her arousal and her breath was coming out in little gasps. She was about to remark that his hands had, by contrast, featured heavily in her own fantasies, but her head snapped around as his words penetrated the dreamy fog clouding her brain.

“How ungentlemanly, exactly?” she sounded surprised, but to his relief more excited than offended. Not that he had ever really expected her to take offence, but this was more forward than he usually was when it came to trying new things.

He upped the ante, daring her to pull back; leaning in to brush his lips against her ear, he let one thick digit slide up her cleft to circle her hole, causing a shock of pleasure to crackle up her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

“Positively sinful,” he promised, his voice a deep, low growl, “and quite possibly illegal.”

She turned her head to capture his lips in a rough kiss, flicking her tongue swiftly into his mouth and biting at his bottom lip as she drew back.

“Sounds positively shocking. Who would have guessed.” She was smirking through her lashes, a goading light in her eyes, but somehow sounded strangely proud of him. He had come a long way down the path of accepting his own desires, not to mention satisfying hers.

“Have you ever..? I mean, I don’t know if it’s something you usually enjoy..?” his flexing fingers were still teasing her, deft and confident, his intentions clear, despite his hesitant words and the charming blush painting the tips of his ears. There really was no other word for it, she thought again. The man really was adorable.

“It's not entirely new to me,” she said, direct and matter of fact as always. “It's not something I've attempted often, because it can be somewhat uncomfortable if you're with a man who gets carried away and decides to rush things, but I trust you, Jack. I take it you haven't...?”

“Uh, no.” His lips twisted in self-depreciating amusement. “Before you, my imagination often tended to outstrip my experience in these matters.”

“Well I suggest we do something about that. If you check the top drawer in the little cabinet over there you will find a bottle of massage oil that might help smooth things along.”

He nodded, not bothering to ask where and when she had managed to procure massage oil, although he was a little disappointed that this was the first he had heard about it. Keeping an almost entirely straight face he went to retrieve the bottle, marvelling a little at how, in a few short months of this affair, even the darkest and most dishonourable of his fantasies could be discussed so easily. He had had a few lovers in his life besides Rosie, the minor escapades of a headstrong but not exactly misspent youth. None of them, not even his marriage before it went sour, had ever been a relationship of such easy intimacy.

Phryne had made it quite clear that shame should play no part in anything that took place in the bedroom, and that there was no question of either of them doing anything that they were unhappy or uncomfortable with. It was a very liberating thing, that trust, and he was determined to do everything he could to reciprocate, to trust her enough not to hold back for fear of rejection or revulsion.

Phryne was watching him as he bent to open the drawer and draw out the blue glass bottle of lightly fragrant oil. The muscles in his back and arse rippled as he moved, a gorgeous sight that had her licking her lips appreciatively. This development had piqued her ever present curiosity. Jack had proved to be rather adventurous in the bedroom, once she got him to relax a little, but usually he would wait until she suggested something before indulging with considerable enthusiasm and not a small amount of natural talent. The man had been horrifically wasted on bachelorhood.

This though, this was new; not only had he made a delightfully debauched suggestion himself, but had confessed, without prompting or teasing, that he had thought about it, fantasised about it, from the earliest days of their acquaintance. When he had still been married and hadn’t quite resigned himself to the myriad advantages of accepting her assistance on his cases. What might those fantasies have been like? Most men who had expressed an interest in ‘kneeling at the altar’ as it were, were interested in some kind of control or dominance. That wasn’t normally Jack’s style, but Phryne wasn’t averse to a little submission from time to time, as long as he was clear it went both ways. She was usually cautious about letting men take her this way - an overexcited or inconsiderate lover could cause a lot of discomfort - but Jack was a man who always put her pleasure first, and she knew he would stop if she was not enjoying herself. Besides, turning down the chance to get Detective Inspector Jack Robinson to commit an act in the boudoir which technically violated a variety of truly preposterous laws? How could she possibly live with herself?

Jack returned, holding the bottle of oil which he placed on the bedside table, he considered the matter for a moment then departed for the bathroom. There was the brief sound of splashing and when he returned he was carrying the sliver basin provided for their morning ablutions, along with a clean towel and sponge. He set the basin gingerly down next to the bottle, careful not to spill any of the water. Moving back to the bed, he snagged the bottle of oil before joining Phryne, who had turned to lie on her back, the better to watch his preparations, and lent in to kiss her. It was a deep, unhurried kiss, luxuriating in every part of her; his hands moved up over her hips, belly, ribcage, cupping her naked breasts and pinching her nipples between his strong, capable fingers, playing her body the way he might coax a sweet melody from the keys of a piano. He pulled back, slightly out of breath, the mingled expression of love and excitement in Phryne’s eyes was a treasure he would keep in his heart till his dying day.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, but go slowly,” she reached down to find his already hard cock and gave it a slow, loving stroke, the now familiar contours smooth against her palm.

He nodded, gently manoeuvring her so she was lying once again on her front, placing his knees on either side of her legs, and reached for the bottle of oil. The rich scent of warm honey rose in the room as he coated his palms and fingers thoroughly, then bent down and began to massage Phryne's shoulders. His strong, dexterous fingers worked the oil into her skin, pressing on the knots that the cramped conditions in the plane had left in their wake. It was relaxing, this loving, soothing touch, so at odds with the devilish glint she knew would still be twinkling in his deep blue eyes.

Phryne was happily enjoying his ministrations, the loving caress of his fingers and the teasing whispers as he pretended to be too busy counting her freckles to engage in any more strenuous love making. Threatening to take years just to kiss every inch of her skin. She sighed, too lost in a dreamy, haze of contentment to argue with him. He would get on with it eventually she knew, and in the meantime, this was a very pleasant way to spend a morning – the Louvre be damned.

Jack’s hands moved lower, his thumbs working the muscles on either side of her spine, his lips trailing little kisses in the wake of his busy hands, delighting in the sweet taste of the oil as it mingled with her own exquisite flavour. When he reached the curve of her backside, Phryne expected him to continue where he had left off, was by this point rather eager for it actually. Possibly it was the surprise, or the fact that her body seemed to respond to his touch in ways she had rarely felt with other men, but feeling his finger circling her second entrance had been a far more interesting sensation than she would have predicted. Further investigation was clearly in order. Jack, however, had other plans. Mindful of her instruction to take things slowly, and determined to make sure she was comfortable, he began by working the oil into her cheeks, then her thighs, letting his fingers tease closer and closer to her cunt until she was rocking her hips in a bid for contact.

He surprised her once again, flipping over onto his back and pulling her legs over his shoulders so he could use his lips and tongue and thrusting fingers to bring her to a fast, screaming climax. Her moans buried in the soft downy pillow beneath her head. He emerged, looking appallingly pleased with himself and she grinned at him over her shoulder.

“You are far too good at that, if I’m not careful it’s going to go to your head.”

“Heaven forbid! I dread to think of what fearful plans you would set in motion in an effort to teach me humility.”

“Very wise, Inspector. Now, delightful as that was, I believe you had plans of your own.”

“Patience, Miss Fisher. I haven’t forgotten.”

She acquiesced to his lead, letting him manoeuvre her onto her side, lying down to face her, his broad hand reaching up to tangle in her hair as he kissed her, slowly, with that unparalleled focus that always left her giddy. His hand began to wander lower, caressing her spine, her waist, the flesh of her buttock. He dipped one long finger into her cleft, swirling it in the mix of oil and arousal that coated her flesh. The stimulation on her skin, already tingling with post orgasmic sensitivity, made her shiver, moaning words of encouragement into his mouth as he continued his attentions.

Phryne might have begun this with the charitable notion that it was a gift to him, an indulging of a dirty secret – quid pro quo perhaps, for all the little kinks he had indulged in her. She realised now that she had underestimated him. His lone finger was doing wicked, delicious things to her, stoking a wild need inside. She wanted to feel him breach her, wanted the sharp bite, the stretch, the gorgeous, shameless pleasure he promised with each slow circle around her hole.

Jack pulled back slightly, wanting to watch her, to be certain she was with him; her eyes flicked open, her smile filthy, sensual and utterly unconquered, and it struck him how very different this was to the fantasy he had dreamed up so long ago. He had thought of her pleasure then, always, but it had been a rough, tawdry thing; illicit and debauched like so many of the thoughts he fought so hard to hide from her in their early days. Now, with his finger poised to pave his way to an act of depravity that more than one religion called a mortal sin, he felt only the perfect intimacy of knowing there was no part of her he did not want to worship, and that to look upon her pleasure was to see the face of god.

She was grateful that he did not make her beg, this was no slow torment, he waited until she began to thrust herself backwards, seeking relief from the tension racking her body, before slowly sliding inside her. Watching her face, attuned to catch any sign of discomfort, he smiled a crooked, devilish little smile as her eyes snapped shut and she bit at her lip, unable to contain the animal groan that burst from her throat. He stilled, kissing her again, his movements agonisingly slow, spreading the slickness between her thighs as far as he could reach as she met each tiny movement with her hips, her breath staggered and harsh as her mouth opened against his.

This was not going at all as Phryne had expected. True, Jack had proved very adept at noticing what things pleased her, at experimenting until he found just the right pressure, the right spot to send her careening blindly into bliss, but still, most men when presented with this kind of opportunity, tended to glory in the infamy. That or relish in their supposed power as the agent of a shame she did not – as a point of principle – ever actually feel. Instead she felt, of all things, cherished; he had asked for another way to love her, one that might have left her vulnerable, and it was that gentle love she felt in this slow, inexorable penetration.

She gasped, wincing slightly as he added a second finger, but kissed him back fierce and hungry, letting him feel how much she wanted this. Dark, glossy tendrils of pleasure were curling through her, rising and ebbing like a deep sea under stormy skies; she wanted more, wanted to drown down there in the warm dark and never surface. She sped up the movements of her hips and her hand, which had been tangled in Jack’s hair, reached between them till she found his cock, hot and hard against her thigh and began to stroke him, matching the speed of his relentless, questing fingers.  

Jack gasped at her touch, moving his lips down to her neck, sucking at her skin; her tight, warm fingers were clasped around him moving slow torturous strokes. Her hips shifted, letting her grind her wet heat and throbbing clit against his erection, pushing herself back against his fingers, speeding up their rhythm. The shock to his system when a final deft flick of her hips drew his cock inside her drew a sound from deep in his chest he did not know he could make. Her satisfied moan at the dual penetration was almost more than his stamina could withstand; he could feel the pressure of his own fingers against his cock through her tight, perfect flesh. It was otherworldly, beyond the deepest and darkest of his secret fantasies. He needed her to come like this, needed to feel it tremble through her from the inside out.

Phryne was frantically chasing her release, nothing in her head but churning heat and molten gold, the twin sensations in front and behind leaving no pause or respite to her pleasure. She froze, screaming out his name, along with a stream of powerful obscenities, clamping her leg over his hip to hold him close. Jack reached up with the hand still resting against the pillow to wipe the sweat from her forehead, dropping a sweet loving kiss onto her damp forehead as he withdrew his fingers, cupping her backside tenderly in his broad palm. That he hadn’t come himself as he felt her clench around his fingers and his cock at once was something close to a miracle. By gods she was spectacular.

“Jesus Christ, Jack. That was…I’m not sure what that was but I hope you will see your way to doing it again.”

He laughed softly, his heart and ego doing cartwheels at the dreamy look of indolent pleasure on her face. He was still hard inside her and the little tremor of joy that rumbled from his chest vibrated through their joined bodies, strong enough to make her eyes flutter shut as she savoured the sensation.

“I think that can be arranged.” He nuzzled into her neck, breathing her in, unable to resist flexing his hips against hers, seeking any friction against his throbbing, needy cock.

“Mmm, that feels delightful darling, but perhaps a little rearrangement is in order? If you’re serious about seeing this experiment through?”

“I’m a serious man,” intoned the person who had penned _Ode to an Elbow_ with unparalleled gravitas, “are you sure?”

She rolled away from him; they both felt the momentary sense of loss as he left her body and she busied herself rummaging in the pile of cushions by her head. Jack took the opportunity to wash his hands in the soapy water he had brought for them, before climbing back onto the bed, his eyes on the curve of Phryne’s backside as she rummaged in the cushions. 

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t have suggested it. Besides, you appear to have discovered a potential talent for illegal activity, I wouldn’t like to deprive you of the opportunity to explore it. Aha!” The little cry of triumph heralded the retrieval of the massage oil which had wound up obscured by the veritable mountain of pillows the hotel had provided.

Rolling back towards him, Phryne’s eyes dropped appreciatively to Jack’s hand, now wrapped around his thick length, working it with steady, practiced strokes as he watched her. It should not be legal to look that good whilst doing that. She poured a generous measure of the oil onto her hand, rubbing her palms together and beckoning him forward with a look he had no chance of resisting. He rose onto his knees and shuffled towards her, dropping his hand away to give her room.

Her two hands, slick with oil began to explore, one at the base, the other caressing his head. She smiled wickedly at the slight of his clenched jaw; his long eyelashes fluttered shut against flushed cheeks as he relished the feel of her fingers massaging the lubricating fluid along his length.

“I really am going to have to buy some more of this stuff,” she twisted her wrist in a way she knew would draw a groan from his throat, “it has so many possible uses.” Satisfied with her work, she bent in to press a swift kiss to the tip of Jack’s cock, her tongue darting out to taste the delicious mixture of their mingled arousal and the honey sweet flavour of the fragrant oil.

He drew her up, plundering her mouth, urgent now and needy, his fingers tangling in her sweaty hair.

“Get on your knees.” It could have been a command or a plea, not even Jack was really sure, but Phryne obeyed with an insouciant smirk that left no ambiguity as to who was in control here. She wiggled her backside at him.

“Have at it, Inspector.”

Even tightly wound as he was he couldn’t help the snort of laughter at her refusal to take this situation seriously, it almost made him forget that the fantasy had ever brought him shame.

He picked up the bottle of oil from where she had laid it on the bed and let the last of the contents glide down her cleft before he took up position behind her. His hands on her hips were gentle, his movements slow, giving her the chance to pull back if she wished too.

She did not.

All initial scepticism at this experiment had been replaced by frank curiosity and anticipation; she felt the hot pressure of his cock, bit her lip at the sting as he breached her, gasping out a curse that was almost a whimper.

“ _Fuck_ , Jack.”

He paused, his jaw clenching again at the feel of her so tight around him.

“You alright?” it was a whisper, almost reverent.

“God, yes. More, I need more.”

He pressed on, the chaos of right and wrong swirling and dissipating into an ecstasy of irrelevance, overwritten by the glorious sensations wrenching mind from body and driving him inexorably on. The sound of Phryne’s guttural, feral moaning was loud in his ears, a stimulant and a reassurance, she was enjoying this as much as he was, meeting his leisurely strokes, thrusting back, taking him deeper. The sweat beading on her back was standing out in little pearls against the oil still glistening against her skin, and he bent his head to lap them up before they fell.

Phryne’s thoughts had long since fractured into nonsense, her body overruled by inexorable waves of dark, decadent, brazen pleasure. And love. Even without a coherent thought in her head she could feel the tenderness in Jack’s touch, the care that mingled with slow burning passion to overwhelm her senses and send her flying. Then his fingers moved from her hip to her sex and began a gentle swirling rhythm, circling her clitoris, then dipping inside her. God he was inside her twice. It felt so good and safe and cherishing to be this close to him, closer than she had ever been to anyone. He shifted his finger back to her clit and her climax detonated in a roar of hellfire and glory and she sank boneless to the bed. She felt her sphincter relax as Jack’s cock left her body and heard his deep, soul shattering moan as the hot stream of release hit her back. It was followed swiftly by the warm, welcome weight of his body as he collapsed on top of her and held her close.

Jack blinked sweat from his eyes, which were slowly regaining the ability to focus. The room smelled of deviance; of filth and sex and honey, and he was not sure feeling was ever likely to return to his legs.

“I fear that little adventure may have rendered our morning baths entirely redundant.” Phryne mumbled, her voice a little slurred.

“A worthwhile sacrifice in my book.” He murmured into her hair, rolling off of her and reaching for the sponge.

He took such a tender care as he washed her; soaking and rinsing the cloth until she was clean enough for him to dry her skin with the soft towel he had placed next to the bed. For some strange reason her eyes prickled slightly with tears at his touch, her heart overflowing, her body utterly spent. She forced them down, rolling over to reward him with a soft, loving smile, taking the sponge from the basin and applying a similar care to his chest and the spent length of his cock.

Once as clean as seemed practical at the moment, they snuggled close under the fine linen counterpane, sharing soft smiles and softer kisses, replete and contented in their closeness.

“I don’t know about you, Jack, but I vote we leave the Louvre for today.”

“Why, Miss Fisher? Did I tire you out?” He had no intention of moving but it took relatively little energy to tease her and he was feeling rather pleased with himself.

She declined to answer, shooting him a calculating look as if selecting a tactic to knock him down a peg from a range of possible options – which was in fact exactly what she was doing.

“Well, if you’d care to find out what that’s like for yourself, I’m always game to lend a helping hand.”

The hand in question, which had been gently caressing the firm curve of his arse, dipped momentarily between his cheeks, somewhere between a dare and a reprimand.

Jack huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes, realising his tactical error he had made in upping that particular ante. She kissed the quirk of his lips, not looking away.

“You never know Jack, you might enjoy it. Besides, turnabout is fair game.”

His eyes widened a little as he realised she was serious, something a little less than fear flickered in his chest, and Phryne – who never missed a trick – caught the look in his eye. He was intrigued, however long it might take him to admit it. She could work with that.

“You are a terribly corrupting influence, Miss Fisher.” he rumbled, holding her close and kissing the lids of her eyes as they fluttered closed.

“I do my best,” she sighed, snuggling close and settling in for a nap.

**Author's Note:**

> Technically the anti-sodomy laws which were used to persecute gay men could have been applied to heterosexual couples as well, although they were not. I can imagine the injustice of this sitting poorly with our detectives.
> 
> Kneeling at the altar was my favourite of the period appropriate euphemisms for anal sex I uncovered during my research for this fic - most of them were either crass or a bit racist e.g. 'Greek' or 'the Italian way' - it's amazing what you learn when you write fic.


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